'Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Let your soul take you where you long to be...Close your eyes let your spirit start to soar, and you'll live as you've never lived before.' (Erich Fromm)

Friday, 26 December 2008

Boxing Day Reflection

Two things occupying my time at the moment, around the merriment of Christmas and New Year festivities are:(1) Reading: The Shack by WM Paul Young, and(2) Completing an assignment (3000 words) for my current MA in Creative Writing. The title: What, if any, is the significance of tradition for poets we have studied? Your answer should refer to at least two poets studied on the course. The two poets I’ve decided to focus on are W.H. Auden and Philip Larkin.

It is always interesting when different elements of one’s life seem to come together and link in to formulate a ‘word of wisdom’. I’ll explain what I mean. In researching Larkin – I came across his poem titled: Aubade (which I post below), a poem that contemplates death in an honest and straightforward way. Underlying the poem is that age-old question as to the meaning and purpose of our lives – especially when we are being ravaged by difficult and traumatic circumstances. It is this same question that is ultimately presented in an intelligent and different way in the book: The Shack. Indeed, I heard about this book in the summer but for some reason resisted jumping on the bandwagon at the time – and I have only finally picked up a copy this December. And on reading it (absorbed from beginning to end)... all I can say is: WOW! It is a book that discusses an old narrative in a vibrant, new way – causing the reader to re-think ideas and paradigms of one’s understanding and truth about God (or that ultimate power or supreme being... however you choose to interpret or define ‘Him/Her/or It’). Even though this book is a Christian book – it transcends the religion or system we call ‘Christianity’ – and asks for serious reflection and consideration of the question posed by Larkin’s Aubade – to both Christians and non-Christians alike. It provokes and challenges pre-conceived notions and ideas of humanity’s relationship with a supreme being (however, you interpret that!) Hence, both Larkin’s Aubade and Young’s The Shack has illuminated for me a quote that I read recently by the contemporary artist, Francis Alys: ‘Sometimes, to make something is really to make nothing; and paradoxically, sometimes to make nothing is to make something.’

I find it poignant to be reading and reflecting on these things at the dawning of a new year. A reminder to myself that in my anxious moments when my mind is shackled by deep and dark fears and feelings of uncertainty about the future, that the key to living in the now and present is to: ‘trust and let go’ – allowing each day to take care of itself.

HAPPY BOXING DAY TO YOU ALL!!!

Aubade by Philip Larkin

I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. In time the curtain-edges will grow light. Till then I see what's really always there: Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, Making all thought impossible but how And where and when I shall myself die. Arid interrogation: yet the dread Of dying, and being dead, Flashes afresh to hold and horrify. The mind blanks at the glare. Not in remorse - The good not done, the love not given, time Torn off unused - nor wretchedly because An only life can take so long to climb Clear of its wrong beginnings, and may never; But at the total emptiness for ever, The sure extinction that we travel to And shall be lost in always. Not to be here, Not to be anywhere, And soon; nothing more terrible, nothing more true. This is a special way of being afraid No trick dispels. Religion used to try, That vast, moth-eaten musical brocade Created to pretend we never die, And specious stuff that says No rational being Can fear a thing it will not feel, not seeing That this is what we fear - no sight, no sound, No touch or taste or smell, nothing to think with, Nothing to love or link with, The anasthetic from which none come round. And so it stays just on the edge of vision, A small, unfocused blur, a standing chill That slows each impulse down to indecision. Most things may never happen: this one will, And realisation of it rages out In furnace-fear when we are caught without People or drink. Courage is no good: It means not scaring others. Being brave Lets no one off the grave. Death is no different whined at than withstood. Slowly light strengthens, and the room takes shape. It stands plain as a wardrobe, what we know, Have always known, know that we can't escape, Yet can't accept. One side will have to go. Meanwhile telephones crouch, getting ready to ring In locked-up offices, and all the uncaring Intricate rented world begins to rouse. The sky is white as clay, with no sun. Work has to be done. Postmen like doctors go from house to house.

Calli - Thanks for your message. I do hope I'll be able to access your blog soon:)

Maithri - Thank you for your deep & insightful comments on this entry. I'm curious, what area/discipline of medicine are you in? My sister, Lillian, is also a Dr - General Practice (in the US). And, also - which part of Africa are you originally from? I'd guess... Ethiopia/Erithia or Kenya...(lol)?

Maithri & Tracey-Ann - Many thanks for following my blog as 'blogging comrades'. It's hugely appreciated & I look forward to staying connected with you guys!

I was born in Sri Lanka ;) I volunteer in Swaziland whenever I can... and in australia, where I live and grew up, i'm a medical registrar at a hospital in victoria... Its the equivalent of general practice, step before specialty training.

Actually in swaziland, most people think i'm from eritrea or kenya ;)...

Maithri - Sri Lanka... goodness, I was way out (lol)! Hmmmmm... I know what you mean about being a 'citizen of the world'. My African heritage is Nigerian; though I was raised in the Middle East (Jerusalem, Egypt & Syria); completed my schooling and university in the US and the UK; currently living and working in the UK (London/ and now Birmingham); married to an Aussie and looking to relocate to Melbourne early next year '09. Yep - a citizen of the world... that's us (LOL)! Cheers.

@Cynthia: re The Shack – not perfect in terms of writing skill(though, still very good); but absolutely ‘mind-blowing’ in terms of the ‘soul issues’ it raises. It is one of those rare pieces of writing that has the power and ability to convict so deeply – and, make you think (or re-think) current paradigms that dictate one's life. A really interesting book – and, definitely worth the read!

re Assignment – well, I’m in my second year of an MA in Creative Writing (with a Poetry focus); while completing a Post Graduate Certificate in Creative Writing (with a Prose focus). Both distance-learning courses – although run very differently (around a full-time teaching work)... and, both absolutely great choices! I’ve loved – loving every minute of these creative writing undertakings. Really helping me to hone in my writing skills! At the moment, my preferred platform of writing is the ‘short story’... although, I am working on a fantasy novel and do write some poetry (although, with poetry – it does seem that I have to be in the right frame of mind (lol))!

Thanks for your interest... I love sharing a bit more of myself with people... (smile)!

@Maithri: re re-location to Melbourne: yes – that’s the plan at the moment (by God’s grace)... and, I’ll definitely be looking you up when I arrive and I’m all settled. Well – I hope all goes well for you in Swaziland. I hope it’s a fruitful and rewarding time for you. Stay well. Will you still be blogging from there? Hope so!

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About Me

At the moment this BLOG reflects a collage of my musings, poetry, short stories, songs and random thoughts. In as much as blogging is therapeutic for me - as one who struggles with deep depression and issues of self-worth - I want to engage you, my reader, in the adventure that is my LIFE!
Three words that best describe my personality and character are: bohemian, zany, and eclectic - or simply put - MAD. Many years ago someone summed me up by saying that I am: 'a square peg that refuses to fit into a round hole' - or vice versa. I work as a secondary school teacher although I'm an aspiring author and poet. I'm currently undertaking an MA in Creative Writing - which I'm enjoying immensely. In the future (around my writing), I hope to engage in Christian work and social projects that raise awareness and funding for the work of HIV/AIDS.

CONTACT ME AT:

The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveller, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less travelled by, And that has made all the difference.

Design by Robert Frost

I found a dimpled spider, fat and white,On a white heal-all, holding up a mothLike a white piece of rigid satin cloth --Assorted characters of death and blightMixed ready to begin the morning right,Like the ingredients of a witches' broth --A snow-drop spider, a flower like a froth,And dead wings carried like a paper kite.What had that flower to do with being white,The wayside blue and innocent heal-all?What brought the kindred spider to that height,Then steered the white moth thither in the night?What but design of darkness to appall?--If design govern in a thing so small.

Terezin by Michael Longley

No room has ever been as silent as the room Where hundreds of violins are hung in unison.

Poem (Untitled) by Catherine Mark-Beasant

The sufferer with mirthas his song – has he breathedhis last chuckle, or deaththrown him a lifeline?

Communion by Catherine Mark-Beasant

The ladybends both kneesand eye-balls

the erectionfirst a glanceskyward

measured,her lips embracetransfigured flesh

received throughhollow moistpharynx

Parody on Edwin Morgan's 'A view of things'!

what I love about kangaroos are their hoppity hopwhat I hate about the sunshine is its snarlwhat I love about the Himalaya is its grandeurwhat I hate about fire is its fierce facewhat I love about magazines are their tittle-tattlewhat I hate about religion is its stern poutwhat I love about Harry is his whiskerswhat I hate about Alma is her wrinkleswhat I love about diamonds are their valuewhat I hate about pearls are their ilkwhat I love about poetry is its ambiguitywhat I hate about horses are their hooveswhat I love about love is its truthwhat I hate about hate is its heartwhat I love about hate is its strengthwhat I hate about love is its boundarieswhat I love about Dad is his wisdomwhat I hate about school children is their smugnesswhat I love about Mum is her diplomacywhat I hate about black pudding is its colour, texture, smell, and tastewhat I love about the world is its vastnesswhat I hate about death is its uncertainty and finite naturewhat I love about the sea is its honestywhat I hate about the rain is that it's cold, damp, and wetwhat I love about time is its indifferencewhat I hate about you, friend, is your CD collectionwhat I love about distance is its power to transcendCatherine Mark-Beasant